Touch Me There
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: When the Nogitsune is defeated, everyone believes that Stiles is okay. Wrong.
1. Feel Like I Am Breathing

_**This story was inspired by the song A Little Death by The Neighbourhood after listening to it many times on repeat.**_

_**These lyrics in particular:**_

_Touch me, yeah_  
_I want you to touch me there_  
_Make me feel like I am breathing_  
_Feel like I am human, again._

_**(Rated T for Panic Attack because I am paranoid)**_

* * *

When the Nogitsune is defeated, everyone believes that Stiles is okay. They all know the demon inside of him is gone, that he has his conscience and body back, which means, naturally, he's now in control of himself 100%. Right?

_Wrong._

Yes, the evil spirit that resided in him may be gone. But no, he isn't fully in control of himself. At all. Not in the slightest.

He dreads the _what ifs_, like what if the Nogitsune is just dwelling in the deeper parts of his subconscious, hiding itself away, only choosing to strike when it knows he finally feels safe and all of his doubts are wiped clear from his conscience. The _what if _of the Nogitsune taking control of him again, grasping greedily at his life, taking it into its hands and twisting it into another living nightmare.

Honestly, he's terrified. He's scared, afraid that at any minute he'll snap and go off the rails. One minute he could be him, cheery and sarcastic Stiles, making the people around him laugh, the next minute a cunning and deceitful fox, hurting the ones he cares about.

He hasn't told anyone about how he feels, about the gut wrenching shivers that wrack through his body when he wakes up in the middle of the night, or the panic attacks he sometimes falls into when he sees a harmless dark reflection of a tree's shadow outside his bedroom window.

Things are back to normal and all of his friends and family are happy. They deserve this. He doesn't want to—_will not_ ruin that.

But, even though he's getting better and better at dealing with things by himself and leaving them a secret, there's just one person who keeps trying to rip the truth out of him.

That person is Derek Hale.

After everything had settled down Derek moved back into the loft, allowing Isaac to stay as well, apologizing and promising the young Beta that he would always have a home there. The pack have meetings in the loft every week now, making time in their (busy) schedules to attend. Derek ended up buying furniture as well, spicing up the place and giving it a pretty comfortable atmosphere for social gatherings.

Scott and Kira are a thing now, as are Isaac and Allison (took them long enough). Aiden and Lydia are still together, Danny and Ethan having got back together after Danny let the secret slip that he knew about werewolves all along ("_Dude, it's Beacon Hills." _Wow, very subtle Danny boy).

Then, well, there's Derek. And Stiles. No, not together. They're the only two people in the pack without a significant other to share the popcorn with on movie nights, or to kiss and cuddle, spread along the couch on Truth or Dare nights. They're both single, un-attached at the hip. They've only got themselves and no one else.

Stiles _has_ considered telling Derek, just giving into the werewolf's endless questions of _are you okay_ and_ what's wrong_, letting Derek comfort him in this time of desperation. But then the voice at the back of his head—the one that sounds so hauntingly familiar to the Nogitsune, drawls viciously at him, "_Hasn't he been through enough, SSSSSSStiles? Don't want to ruin his life more than you have already, doooooo you?"_

So he doesn't. He keeps his mouth shut, soldiers on through it all on his own. Because it's all he can do now, isn't it?

* * *

Stiles wakes up with a shrewd gasp, heart hammering against his lungs, sweat a sticky perspiration that sheens his skin. His mouth is dry, throat clenching when he swallows. He tries to take a breath but his windpipe feels constricted, too tight to suck in any air.

Of course the first thing he does, is panic.

His hands clutch desperately at the sheets, fingers twisting in the material, eyes wide as he pants breathlessly. It's no use. He can't breathe. Everything is starting to blur, the moonlight shining through the window now melding into his vision. Instead of black spots appearing there's only bright white, blinding him, his senses dwindling.

Suddenly, there's a voice.

"—iles!"

It's muffled as his hearing slowly breaks, silence taking over.

He tries to keep his eyes open but it's too much, pressure behind his eyelids pulling them down. He's still trying to catch a wisp of air, tongue lolling out, tiny, weak pants like whispers from his mouth.

"—es!"

The voice, whoever it is, sounds desperate as they yell. He feels a shift of something, the bed or maybe his body, but he's not quite sure, all of his limbs having already gone numb from lack of air. He feels like he's floating, barely clinging on to life.

That's when the warm, soft flesh captures his own parted lips, the crushing weight compressing his chest lifting slightly just before he passes out.

* * *

When Stiles comes to, he feels wiped. His chest hurts, the residing effects from his earlier panic attack taking their toll. His eyelids feel like they're sewn shut, his mouth like it's filled with cotton wool.

"Stiles?"

_There's that voice again_, he thinks, trying to open his eyes. The voice is calmer this time, not raised in fright but still riddled with concern.

"Hnnngg." Stiles groans softly, eyelids fluttering. There's solid warmth beside him, the urge to snuggle into it is strong but not possible with how weak he feels at the moment. When he manages to squint his eyes open he's met with the sight of Derek Hale lying beside him, jaw structure tense and eyes sightly frazzled.

"Stiles," he breathes, and the relief in his voice actually sends a trilling sort of feeling down Stiles' spine.

"Der," he mumbles in response, trying to shift his body, get closer to the werewolf lying beside him. It seems that his body doesn't feel like co-operating, though. Instead it decides to pang him with a load of familiar muscular aches. "Move a bit?" he whispers, fingers stretching out to gently tug at the sleeve of Derek's shirt.

Derek nods, sliding over until their sides are touching, shoulders matching up. Stiles slowly turns his head, blinking shortly and uttering a small, choked noise of surprise when he realizes how exactly close Derek is. Their noses are a literal few centimetres from bopping each other, lips the same distance.

_That's when the warm, soft flesh captures his own parted lips._

"You kissed me," he breathes, eyes widening. Derek doesn't move, nor make a sound, just eyes him silently. "You kissed me," he repeats, slowly and doubtfully, not really wrapping his head fully around it.

This time Derek does move. A light peck on his lips, gone before Stiles can register the sensation and delve into it. "I know," he says tenderly. _Tenderly._

Stiles wants to cry.

"Why?" he asks, curses his dry throat for how pitiful his voice sounds.

Derek shakes his head. "No. Not today." He traces the curve of Stiles' cheekbone with his pinkie, lips twitching as he smiles. "Sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow."

Stiles frowns, doesn't want to sleep, but his body betrays him again as he yawns, eyelids growing heavy. "Be here when I wake up?" he murmurs, letting his eyes drift shut.

When he feels the comforting hold of two arms encompassing him in a protective, affectionate embrace, it's all Stiles needs to know that Derek will be there when the sun rises.

* * *

**_I hope you liked this little mix of fluff 'n angst. Reviews are appreciated if you're into doing that sort of thing :)_**


	2. Feel Like I Am Human, Again

**_Here, have some smut and fluff to top it off! :)_**

* * *

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, it's to being full-on cuddled by Derek Hale. The werewolf's arms are wrapped around him, secure and tight, their combined body heat not unpleasant but just warm enough to be comfortable.

Stiles shifts slightly, trying to be discrete about it as to not wake Derek, who is still peacefully sleeping, snoring quiet little breaths. He manages to untangle one arm from the werewolf's embrace, but when he tries to do the same with the other Derek makes a soft, almost puppy-like noise of complaint, hugging the arm to his chest like a little kid with a stuffed teddy bear.

It's adorable.

But not _that _adorable, for Stiles still wants his arm back.

"Yo, Derek, bud, mind giving me my arm back?" he murmurs quietly, knowing the werewolf can hear, yet wondering if it'll be enough to wake the man up. The answer proves successful for the next second Derek's mouth opens on a wide, loud yawn, eyelids fluttering open.

"No," Derek grumbles, surprising an amused laugh out of Stiles.

"Fine," he chuckles, easily trapping one of Derek's feet with both of his own. "I get your foot then."

Derek snorts, corners of his mouth twitching.

"So," Stiles drawls, coughing awkwardly. "You said you'd tell me—"

"I'll get to that," Derek says, cutting him off with a small smile, and Stiles finds himself distracted by that little action so much that he misses Derek's lips zooming in closer until they're pressed against his own.

The startled gasp that makes its way out of his mouth is taken in by Derek's kiss, sucked from his own and into Derek's. The werewolf's lips are as warm as his body, maybe even warmer, and when they part more and a moan of contentment eases out from them, Stiles loses himself in the moment and returns the sentiment as best he can.

Derek's arms curl tighter around him, hugging him close before the kiss abruptly breaks away. Stiles doesn't have a second to complain because no sooner as their lips part, the werewolf's lips latch onto the skin of neck instead, sucking lightly, drawing the blood to the surface with gentle suction.

"Mmm." Stiles sighs softly, digging his finger nails into Derek's back, feeling the man's broad shoulders, the muscles as they move along with every bite Derek nibbles into his neck. He rolls his hips once, waits to see if it's okay, that Derek wants it, smiles and breathes a low groan when he gets a roll of hips in return.

In a short few minutes the friction between their bodies has increased, their breaths mingling together as Derek's lips return to their desired spot against Stiles', kissing sloppily as their hips start to rut in needy thrusts, both chasing down release.

Stiles finds his first, being a teenager probably having half to do with it, smothering a sharp cry into the part of Derek's lips, letting it get swallowed up. Derek follows a few seconds later, biting down on Stiles' bottom lip, shaking apart with such an openness, vulnerability Stiles has never seen that it actually leaves a tear in his eye.

As they begin to recollect their breaths, untangling their limbs from each other's, Stiles finds that in the afterglow, Derek looks beautiful. His skin glimmers with a light sheen of sweat, green eyes slowly retaining colour as the black of the pupils recede, and his lips are pink and flushed, as are his cheeks.

"Fuck you're gorgeous," he blurts, eyes widening once he realizes that _yes he did just say that out loud and not in his mind, crap._

Derek turns to face him, and Stiles closes his eyes, preparing himself for the worst, which is—Derek laughing. And no, this isn't the laughter of mockery either. This is the kind of laughter you find two people sharing after a sweet, uber duber moment of cuddling (check that) and a make out session that is both unexpected and the best thing to ever grace their lives (check that also).

"Thanks," he says, flush of his cheeks—reddening? Wow. Yes, that is exactly what is happening. Derek Hale is blushing. Because Stiles called him gorgeous.

Stiles grins, bites his lip. "Wouldn't happen to still want to talk about why you kissed me?"

Derek simply shakes his head, eyes twinkling. "I don't think you need a reason anymore," he teases, and Stiles just laughs. And laughs and laughs some more, giddy and unbelievably happy.

Because no, no he doesn't need a reason.

This—Derek in bed with him, an anchor to keep his thoughts in check and the bad memories away, a person to lean on in times of need, his "significant other"—is all he really needs now.


End file.
